


One of His Own

by yuletide_archivist



Category: The Wire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-25
Updated: 2006-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-25 08:03:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1640405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stringer Bell has to meet a new member of the Barksdale family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One of His Own

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Jae W.

 

 

The club was kicking with prostitutes on the wraparound bar, gingerly placing their stiletto heels in between the customer's drinks, on the dance floor rubbing crotches for their current month's rent, and upstairs making the big bucks by hosting private parties of two, three, four men.

Stringer Bell ignored all the animalistic noise and movements; he had more important things to focus on, like trying to figure out how he was going to find a place for Avon's wet-behind-the-ears, snotnosed punk of a nephew. They run a drug organization, not a Fortune 500 corporation--it's not so easy to plug someone inexperienced someplace where they can do no harm. Besides, Avon had high hopes for his nephew and would expect Stringer to put D'Angelo someplace visible where he could make a name for himself if he suceeded, somewhere high enough in the hierarchy that he could pass the blame on to an underling if--when--something went wrong.

Fortunately, Stringer told Avon flat out that he won't place the boy anywhere until he met him face to face. Stringer rarely denied Avon anything, so when Aven stared at him silently, he squirmed deep inside. Not that it showed on the outside, Stringer had perfected the art of keeping a stoic face back when he and Avon were still on the corners yelling "5-0," but besides his his mother, only Avon still had the power to make him rethink his actions. Thankfully, Avon acquiesced and said that gauging the mettle of the pup before throwing him to the wolves wouldn't be such a bad idea. Sometimes Avon liked to sound like whatever movie he most recently watched. Apparently, Avon took a great liking to Master and Commander.

That was the reason for his appearance at the club tonight. Normally, Stringer would be at their off-site office dealing with supply issues and slapping down insubordinates who mistakenly thought that just because Stringer spoke using proper grammar, he was weak. A grim smile touched Stringer's face; it was fun seeing their looks change after they realized that his clean-cut speech patterns were just a facade, and underneath was a man who spent his entire life fighting for survival.

Tonight, however, he was at the club, climbing the stair to meet D'Angelo Barkesdale. Stringer reviewd what he knew of D'Angelo from Avon: 17 years old, only child, has a fine piece of ass named Donnette as his girlfriend. No priors, no record. Not even a note from his high school principal. In fact, D'Angelo did pretty well in school. He could actually apply for college, and get accepted, if he wanted. Not someone that would fit in with a gang of drug pushers and cop killers.

Of course, that might not mean anything; Avon's record was just as clean and he's as street as they get. Not the thug type found prowling on every corner of Baltimore, but something, harder, tougher and smarter--the difference between petty meanness and absolute evil. Avon could terrorize the toughest criminals, rap sheet or no. Perhaps the Barksdale family had a talent for producing ruthless kingpins with spotless records.

Stringer entered the room and saw Avon sitting behind the office desk overflowing with bar receipts and this afternoon's earnings piled high in stacks of fives, tens, and twenties. Across from Avon, with his back to Stringer, sat D'Angelo Barkdale.

The thinness of his shoulders betrayed his youth, but at least he sat up straight, not slouched in the chair pretending to be tougher than he was.

Avon's face lit up when he saw Stringer enter. "And here's my right hand man, D'Angelo. Stringer Bell will be showing you the ropes, getting you your start in making a name for yourself."

D'Angelo stood up in the chair and turned to greet Stringer. The boy's face was smooth, even younger looking than Stringer had feared. Damn, how was he supposed to give this child any real responsibilities? Even the youngest corner watcher could kick this boy's ass.

"How do you do, Mr. Bell," the boy said obediently, his voice clear and strong despite his obvious nervousness. At least he didn't try to shake Stringer's hand, thank God.

Stringer remained mute, watching the boy, seeing what he would do in the ensuing silence.

At first, D'Angelo just stood there with a confused look on his face, but after a few moments Stringer could see the realization that he was being tested. Good, at least he wasn't an idiot.

D'Angelo continued to stand there quietly, unmoving. Stringer could see the young man becoming impatient with the waiting; his right hand twitched before he stilled it, but he stood there without complaining.

Stringer was impressed despite himself. Brianna did a good job raising the boy. He was disciplined and watchful, useful skills to have in an organization run on fear and paranoia. Stringer finally broke the quiet, "Tell me about yourself, D'Angelo."

While the boy rambled on about his history: his grades, school friends, his relationship with the fine-assed Donnette, Stringer glanced over at Avon and nodded his approval. Avon gave him a quick grin--he never doubted that Stringer would like his nephew--and settled himself more comfortably in his chair.

Together both men waited to see how long it would take for the talking boy to realize he was failing his second test.

 

 

 


End file.
